


Roll With the Punches

by jaciesaur



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark and his Chronic Misery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:10:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaciesaur/pseuds/jaciesaur
Summary: /You just roll with the punches until you can't feel a thing./Pepper and Tony have split up, and Tony has no other option than to roll with the punches.





	Roll With the Punches

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Dawes' song 'Roll With The Punches'. I lifted a few lines from the song itself.

He sits with a whisky in his hand, eyes focused on the golden liquid sloshing about in the glass as he gently spins it, wrist moving in lazy circles, eyes watching the way the ice moves along the bottom of the glass.  
Not really watching, if you want to get technical.  
Mostly, his eyes are unfocused.  
The rhythmic movement simply something to keep himself stimming while he loses himself in the past, wading through memories like a bog, slowly and painfully and with no idea where he is headed next.

He does his best to keep up appearances. Nobody wants a broken shell of a man at their press conferences, after all. He maintains that the separation was symmetrical, that it was agreed upon, that it was mutual. But behind closed doors, it’s unanswered calls and missed meetings. It’s muddy lines in the sand, and it is being _alone_.

Most of the damage, of course, was collateral.  
Who stays in charge? Who takes over what? The company took the brunt of the separation, because suddenly he wasn’t at meetings anymore. Suddenly there was this Team that had broken apart, and it was “That goes to Miss Potts” or “Mister Stark can answer that question”, but no talk of discussing it together.  
There’s a quiet animosity between two people that used to work like a well oiled machine.

The company is tough, though. Still standing. Still making money. Still moving forward.  
Rolling with the punches, mostly because Pep wouldn’t let it go any other way.

Then there was the logistics. Who gets what from the penthouse, seeing as how neither of them is staying there. Not anymore.  
She wants very little. He wants even less.  
Except, of course, for the things that mean something. Their dying love manifests in the little decorations in the room. The sentimental things get pushed for. Held back.  
He isn’t sure he wants the memories, but the pettiness (the childishness) that courses through his veins refuses to let some of it go.

Each and every promise was negotiable.  
She was always so damn good at negotiations, so fantastic at business…  
the hardest thing was to settle on the promises they made to themselves.  
What she could forgive him for. How long it would take.  
What secrets he decided to take to his grave. What questions he would answer for her.  
The hardest part was learning how to not pick up the phone.  
Programming FRIDAY to keep him from calling her when he was on his benders.

_‘I’m sorry sir, but you have authorized me to refuse any outgoing calls to Pepper Potts once you have reached a blood-alcohol level of 0.08%.’_

Every morning (or the occasional afternoon), he wakes up.  
As hard as it is.  
He rolls with each punch.  
Every meeting she reschedules for a day when he can’t make it.  
Every presentation she declines because her own schedule is overbooked.  
He keeps going, game face on, because he is Tony Stark.  
And he an Avenger.  
And heroes _can’t_ break _._

She has started to be a quiet, distant thing.  
He realized that today, which is what led him to his bar.  
What led him into the swamp of his mind.  
He filters everything through her, and he doesn’t even realize it.  
_Pepper would like this._  
_Pepper would be disappointed._  
_Pepper would have said…_  
It has been so second nature that he didn’t stop to think of it until he turned to ask her what she would do and found no one else in his office.

He downs his whisky.  
He gets up and pours another.  
And he sighs, knowing that he’ll just have to roll with the punches until he can’t feel a thing.


End file.
